Hidden in Plain Sight
by Avoncliffe
Summary: It is 1992. Harry and James have a daughter, Alexandra, who is 4 years old and about to start school. Unbeknown to them, they are about to be embroiled in an incident that occurred during World War 2 nearly 50 years previously.
1. Chapter 1

**Hidden In Plain Sight.**

**Chapter One.**

**Wednesday, September 9th, 1992. 6.30 am.**

Miss Alexandra Dempsey was excited.

It was to be her first day at school today and she had been looking forward to it. Now, she had been up and about in her bedroom for half an hour or so, busily dressing herself in her new uniform.

In their bedroom along the corridor, her parents were still asleep, although her father James was beginning to stir and, lying on his left side, opened one eye, a smile forming on his lips as he looked at the beautiful sleeping face of his wife, Lady Harriet, affectionately known to most as Harry. Sliding his hand gently up her body, he cupped her left breast and began caressing it, Harry automatically nestling her body close to his and starting to softly moan in pleasure.

As her electrifyingly blue eyes opened and studied the handsome face of the husband she loved so deeply, she reached around his waist and, caressing his lips with hers, pulled the centre of their bodies together, his arousal prominent and his desire for her impossible to ignore.

She rolled seductively onto her back, waiting breathlessly for him to follow when a knock on the door stopped them abruptly, both quickly breaking away from each other and peering at the door as it opened almost immediately.

Standing in it's entrance was Alexandra, known to her family and friends as Alex, but still called Scrumpy by her parents, a nickname they had given her when first learning Harry was pregnant.

"Oh James, just look at her." she marvelled, as her stunning raven haired daughter lingered in the doorway, her violet blue eyes staring at them out of a exquisitely beautiful face, with its heart shaped lips and naturally tanned skin, the latter mirroring her fathers part Italian heritage.

Alex was motionless in her white shirt, dark blue skirt, sunflower yellow jacket, white patterned knee length socks and dark blue bucket hat with its pale blue hat band. In her hand, however, were a pair of black patent leather shoes and, hanging loosely around her neck, her blue and white striped school tie.

"Mummy, can you do my tie and buckle my shoes please?" she asked.

"Oh Scrumpy darling, it's very early to be dressed." replied Harry. "Have you washed your face and brushed your teeth?"

"No." she answered, then in a whisper. "And I need to poo."

Dempsey stifled a chuckle, Harry digging his ribs before slipping out of bed.

"Come on, little Miss Independent." she said, smiling and taking Alex's hand. "I think we need to start again, don't you?"

Alex would be four years old in two months time but she'd already shown herself to be ahead of her years, her various assessments indicating that she was already matching her five year old peers in intelligence.

Her soon to be headmistress had been somewhat reluctant at first to enrol a new pupil still aged three, but after reading a report from her deputy, who'd gently interviewed Alex and been mightily impressed by a maturity that belied her age, the head mistress was subsequently happy to confirm to Harry and Dempsey that she would be joining those children who would be turning five soon into the school year.

"I'm in no doubt she'll hold her own amongst those a year or so older than herself." said Mrs Agatha Hargreaves-Wilson, a rather austere widow of fifty-five. "And we'll keep a close eye on her to make sure she doesn't struggle with our basic curriculum."

So now the big day had arrived and Harry, having undressed her, had then watched as she washed her face and hands, before helping her brush her teeth and complete her toilet. Having assisted in dressing her again, they wandered through to the kitchen, where Dempsey was sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a cup of steaming black coffee, freshly brewing on its hotplate.

"Well now little princess." he beamed, as she walked in. "Don' you look all grown up. Come over here, let me look atcha."

Alex, with her satchel strap proudly draped around her neck, across the chest and attached to the school bag at her hip, strolled confidently over to her father and put her arms around his neck, so he could lift her up and kiss her.

"What would you like for breakfast, little lady?" he asked, as he then gently lowered her back to the floor, before relieving her of the school bag and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Frosties? Sugar Puffs? Porridge?"

"Urgh! I don't want porridge Daddy, thank you very much." replied Alex, her face all screwed up at the thought of it. "Um, Sugar Puffs please."

"You got it honey." said Dempsey, as he reached for the box of sugar coated wheat. "Go sit at the table an' I'll bring it over."

While she was happily munching through her breakfast, with an ear close to the bowl listening for the familiar snap, crackle and pop that the cereal was famous for, Dempsey and Harry got ready for their day.

They had been working for SI-10, a secretive Government department straddling MI5 and MI6 for eight years and which employed an elite band of undercover detectives.

Lieutenant James Dempsey had originally been seconded to it from the NYPD following his discovery of high level corruption within and, with his life in imminent danger, had been sent to London for his safety, albeit against his personal wishes, since he wanted to stay and see the perpetrators brought to justice.

Once there he was paired with Sergeant Harriet Makepeace, who, in private, was Lady Harriet, her father, Lord Freddy Winfield, owner of Winfield Hall, a stately home in Buckinghamshire, along with a Belgravia mansion. Freddy knew all about clandestine operations having been a high ranking officer in British Intelligence.

When he was first introduced to Dempsey, he liked him immediately, recognising in him the many qualities that had singled out the most successful spies and undercover agents he'd controlled during his time with the SOE in World War Two and the British Secret Service since.

Noting the ice cold attitude his daughter had towards her typically brash, arrogant American SI-10 partner, borne in the aftermath of an inherent mistrust of men, following an humiliating and unhappy marriage that had all but destroyed her and her self confidence, he was highly instrumental in bringing to her attention Dempsey's many attributes.

This, coupled with them becoming the Departments most successful operating partnership, together with an unique telepathic connection which was often instrumental in saving each other's lives, had eventually, after three years together, blossomed into a deep devotion to, and a passionate love for one another.

Married in January 1988, in spectacular fashion on Necker Island, they were both surprised and delighted when, three months later, Harry announced she was pregnant, Alexandra Rose being born on November 12th.

Since then they had risen in the ranks, following a promotion for their irrascible boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Gordon Spikings. He had been made Commander and, although offered a new role, elected to remain as head of a team he admired and respected, yet controlled with an iron fist, though never afraid to wrap it in a glove when the necessity arose.

In 1990, Dempsey was enrolled permanently and given the rank of Detective Inspector, followed two years later by a further promotion to Detective Chief Inspector. Harry, having relinquished her position as Dempsey's partner while she went on maternity leave, had nevertheless remained with SI-10 as PA to Spikings, working part-time while Alex grew up.

She'd also been given the rank of Detective Inspector in recognition of her successful record, but, now she was a mother, remained on the sidelines, not wishing to expose herself anymore to the dangers she'd face if she'd stayed in active service.

So, at eight o'clock that September morning, Dempsey, Harry and Alex trooped out to the car, now a powerful Ford Sierra RS Cosworth saloon, finished in a deep metallic maroon.

Dempsey had originally rented a top of the range Mercedes SL sports car upon arriving in the UK in 1984, mainly as a middle finger salute to his erstwhile boss, O'Grady, in New York, for having forced him abroad and who would have to pick up the tab for the monthly hire costs. Nevertheless, the arrangement remained in place for another six years until O'Grady got wind that Dempsey was officially no longer with the NYPD.

The Cosworth was a perfect replacement. One of the fastest production saloon cars on the planet, it had been further tweaked by the SI-10 technicians and, with it's permanent four wheel drive system was also one of the most sure footed. As a family car it also fitted the bill, docile in traffic yet blindingly quick when 'given the beans' as Dempsey always delighted in saying and then demonstrating.

After Harry had ensured Alex was buckled into her child seat, they set off for her private school, Alex chattering ten to the dozen as to what she expected to be doing there.

Once Dempsey had pulled up outside the Richmond Collegiate Junior School, Alex alighted from the car, having waited patiently while Harry undid her straps, and eshewed her mother's hand, walking confidently and alone to the front entrance. There she stopped, turned and waved at her parents, before skipping through the open door and past an astonished teacher who was there primarily to greet and supervise her charges, but inevitably found herself having to comfort the many sobbing children leaving their parents for the first time.

Alex clearly wasn't one of them and her undaunted confidence had singled her out already.

Harry just stood there, tears filling her eyes as she watched her, Dempsey placing an arm around her waist and smiling proudly as his precious daughter disappeared into the building.

"She's gonna be jus' fine, honey." he said, glancing at Harry's watering eyes, then chuckling. "She'll have 'em all eatin' outta her hand before the day's out, you watch."

"I know." replied Harry, her voice ready to break at any moment with love and pride.

"Come on, tiger." he said. "We'll be back here in a few hours to pick her up an' I guess she'll be full of it."

Despite their promotions, both of them had retained their desks, which butted up to each other, mainly because it suited them, but also due to the somewhat cramped office space.

Charles 'Chas' Jarvis, now a Detective Inspector, having been promoted from Sergeant at the same time as Harry, greeted them as they arrived.

"Alex get off alright?" he asked, the whole team fond of the little girl, having met her when she'd occasionally accompanied Harry into the office.

"Yes thanks Chas." replied Harry, smiling. "Anyone would think she'd been going to school for months judging by the way she trotted into the place!"

"Anythin' goin' down pal?" asked Dempsey, as he walked to the vending machine to get coffee's for him and Harry.

"Chocolate for me Dempsey." called Harry. "Can't stand that muck they have the audacity to call coffee!"

"No, Dempsey." replied Chas. "Nothing's popped up at all."

"Hmmm, calm before the storm!" remarked Dempsey as he punched out the various codes for the drinks. "Somethin's comin' roun' the corner at us! I can feel it!"

"Me too." said Harry, glancing up at Dempsey and reaching for the steaming drink, cupping her hands around it and taking a sip. "Hmmm, that's quite nice."

"You reckon there's somethin' too huh, honey?" replied Dempsey to her earlier remark, as he sat down opposite her, then leaning back, his feet automatically finding the top of his desk as he took a drink of coffee.

"Mmm, yes." she replied. "It feels a bit like a kettle that's beginning to boil. Can't explain it really, but it's unsettling all the same."

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**SOE HQ, Baker Street, London. Monday, September 13th, 1943. 6pm.**

The Rt Hon Lieutenant-Colonel Alfred Harold Winfield, hereditary heir to Lord Charles Winfield and the vast Winfield fortune, levelled his startling blue eyes at the young, blonde haired man opposite him and smiled.

"Well Jonny." he said. "You've certainly come through your training with flying colours. Are you ready for your first assignment?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir, more than ready." replied the young man, eager to prove himself.

"Good. A car will pick you up tonight at midnight to take you to the airfield." said Colonel Winfield. "You will be dropped into France, five miles north of Paris. The Resistance will be waiting for you. Any questions?"

"No sir." replied the young operative, before reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing an envelope and handing it across the desk to his commanding officer. "Could you take care of this please sir, in case I...well, you know."

Lieutenant-Colonel Alfred 'Freddy' Winfield glanced at it and, nodding his understanding, took the envelope from him.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No sir." came the reply.

"Fine. Good luck my boy." said Freddy, standing up and reaching across the desk to take the young man's hand.

"Thank you sir." he said, accepting the proferred hand and shaking it. "I'll do my level best."

"I'm sure of it. Goodbye."

"Goodbye sir."

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**11, Rue de Saussaies in the 8th arrondissement, Paris. Gestapo Headquarters. Monday, September 13th 1943. 10.30pm.**

Pierre Gaston could take no more. His eyes were blackened and almost closed from the swelling to the sockets, his nose bloody and broken, his lips split and the blood from them mixing with that of his mouth, itself bleeding from the two teeth having just been beaten out of him.

"Ha! I think a little levelling up of those teeth is in order!" said Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer-SS, Kurt Scheel, his French fluent and his eyes glinting as he took a pair of pliers from his pocket and approached Pierre, whose head was now in the vice-like grip of another inhuman brute standing behind him. "Open wide, there's a good boy."

"Alright! alright! I'll tell you all I know! Please! No more!" he screamed, spitting gore and fragments of teeth from his mouth, mucus dripping from his nose and mingling with the dried blood covering his upper lip.

Scheel whipped the back of his bunched fist across Pierre's face.

"Then sing, canary! Sing!"

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As the ground rushed up to meet him, Jonny Creighton prepared to fold his legs and roll as he hit it, quickly gathering the white, silk parachute together and dragging it to the cover of the trees in a wood just fifty yards away. The weather forecast had been accurate, plenty of cloud covering the moon but there was just enough light to know in which direction he had to go.

The adrenalin, pumping through his body, kept his fear at bay as he reached the trees and scrabbled at the ground to cover the parachute, soon joined by three Resistance fighters with spades, who had materialised silently from the darkness.

Acknowledgements quickly rendered, the four men completed their task and retreated into the wood, soon opening into a small clearing where a battered looking Citroen was waiting, its bootlid open and its engine ticking over, vapour from its exhaust hanging in the cold night air.

Throwing the spades into the boot then clambering in, the four were hardly aboard before the car was away, the doors slamming shut as the driver sped off into the night, the headlights covered, only small slits lighting the way ahead.

They had only been travelling for five minutes when, either side of them, the blinding white light of machine guns opened up, strafing the car, the driver and front seat passenger killed instantly and the car veering into the undergrowth before crunching to a halt on a tree stump.

Scrambling to get out, the two Frenchmen who had flanked Jonny in the back of the car, were hit, the bullets tearing into them without mercy. As Jonny lurched for cover a single shot caught him in the back of his right thigh and brought him down. Gritting his teeth he rose painfully to his feet and stood there, shifting his weight to his left leg, arms above his head and watched as several German soldiers advanced on him, their machine guns trained on various parts of his body.

From amongst them an officer in his black uniform appeared, clearly Gestapo, and strolled nonchalantly up to him.

"Ah. Sergeant Creighton. Ve haf been waiting for you." he said, smiling, then tut tutting. "Oh dear, you seem to be hurt. Ve vill haf to see to it, eh?"

Turning to two soldiers he commanded them, in German.

"Put him in the car!"

Half an hour later and in great pain, Jonny was strapped to a chair, naked except for his underpants, his wound unattended, his body shaking from the cold. The bare room reeked with the pain and fear of those who had gone before him and he closed his eyes, steeling himself as best he could for what he knew was to come.

It wasn't long before Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer-SS, Kurt Scheel walked, grinning, into the room.

Twenty-four hours of continuous, brutal interrogation later, Scheel had Jonny dragged out to a yard behind the building and, putting his Luger to the back of his head, pulled the trigger.

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Just minutes after Jonny had leapt from the plane, the pilot received an urgent message to abort the mission and turn for home immediately. When the reply came that it was too late, Lieutenant-Colonel Winfield went cold with dread.

He sat down and lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs before slowly exhaling, but it gave him little comfort knowing he had, albeit unwittingly, just sent a young, brave man to his certain death.

Reports of Pierre Gastons arrest had just filtered through and since he knew all there was to know of Jonny's imminent arrival, although nothing about his actual mission, it was enough to suspect that, under intense interrogation, he'd break.

When confirmation of the ambush and Jonny's capture was received, Freddy prayed his death would follow swiftly, having to assume he would also break under torture and, with a heavy heart, began to re-arrange assignments that would have dove-tailed with Jonny's. He embarked on a re-think of the operation, of which he'd been part but, thankfully, been unaware of the specific details.

That operation was part of the preparation for the D Day landings planned for the following year.

When news of Jonny's death reached him, Freddy, personally, posted his letter and, in the quiet of his study, with tears in his eyes, toasted a brave young man with a glass of whisky. Freddy Winfield was a deeply compassionate man and always felt the loss of any of his operatives with a supreme sense of loss, despite knowing that they knew their lives were in constant danger and likely to be snuffed out in an instant.

It never dulled the pain, however.

Upon receipt of the letter, Jonny's mother and father were, naturally, bereft.

His little six year old sister was inconsolable. She had worshipped her big brother, he was her hero and she'd never forget him - or those who had sent him to his death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hidden In Plain Sight.**

**Chapter Two.**

At three-thirty in the afternoon of Alex's first day at school, Harry and Dempsey waited patiently at the gates for her to emerge from the building.

She soon came into view, flanked by three children of similar height, two girls and one boy, each of them clearly eager to capture her exclusive attention.

"Typical!" chuckled Harry. "She's got three little friends fighting over her already."

"And you're surprised?" remarked Dempsey, grinning from ear to ear. "Told ya she'd be fine. She's like a beautiful little magnet, jus' like her Mom."

Harry nudged him, blushing slightly. Although always wary of compliments and usually dismissing them as brown nosing her, she could never help her heart swelling a little when Dempsey paid her one.

"Hello Mummy, hi Daddy." said Alex, clearly mirroring Harry's very proper English greeting and her father's laid back American way, as she held out her arms for Dempsey to lift her up, kissing him quickly, before leaning across to do the same to her mother.

"Hello darling." replied Harry, kissing her back. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?"

"That's Hilda." said Alex, looking down at the little girl at Dempsey's side, with white blonde hair and blue eyes before pointing across to the other two. "And that's Melissa and her brother Julian. They're twins."

"Hello." said Harry, to all three, noting the two siblings were clearly not identical, seeing as Melissa was a red head and her brother, auburn haired. "And how old are you all?"

"I'm four and a half." piped up Hilda.

"And we're nearly five." said Julian, getting in before his sister could.

"Have you all enjoyed yourselves at school today?" asked Harry.

"Yes thank you." they answered in unison.

At that moment, Hilda's mother walked up to them, closely followed by a man, to whom Melissa ran with open arms, only to be scooped up by him and hugged, while he, at the same time, reached out his hand for Julian to grip.

While the four adults introduced themselves, none of them noticed the twitching of a set of blinds on the first floor of the school building and a pair of eyes scrutinizing the children.

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In the Spring of 1945, Kurt Scheel had realized the war was effectively lost and, having murdered a civilian and swapped his Gestapo uniform and papers with the dead man, carefully dressing his victim in his much feared black garb, he managed to hide undetected for a while, before escaping south to Marseille.

There, in November, he successfully stowed away on a ship bound for South America, arriving at the Port of Santos in Sao Paulo, Brazil after a nine week journey. It had been perilous, especially at night, when he'd leave his hiding place and creep into the deserted kitchens to grab whatever he could to eat, usually scraps and the remnants of left-over meals.

It kept him alive.

He had been remarkably lucky to have got to Sao Paulo without being discovered and his luck continued to hold out, when, one night, while sleeping rough in a back street, he met, by sheer chance, what turned out to be another fleeing Nazi war criminal, Heidrich Kimmel, now masquerading as Francois Bouvier, who'd almost tripped over him.

Kimmel took him under his wing and introduced him into the pro-Nazi organization set up to help escaping German officers. Kurt changed his name to Christopher Steele, was given money and new identity papers and although fluent in French, spent six months perfecting English, complete with a flawless accent.

One hot, sultry night in the summer of 1947, while drinking in a bar, he started a conversation with Madeleine, a pretty fair haired girl, with soft, hazel eyes and a figure that sent his heart racing and libido on fire. She was twenty-one, French and an exotic dancer, being part of a troupe touring South America. It wasn't long before they were in a passionate relationship, it not mattering to her that he was eight years her senior.

By the end of that year they were married and on their way, by boat, legitimately as far as the authorities were concerned, to London, England to start a new life.

He remained ignorant of the fact that she was a Jewess, who'd witnessed, while hidden, her parents being beaten and dragged away by two brutal Nazi's, before eventually being gassed to death at the Treblinka extermination camp in occupied Poland.

She never said anything, the resultant trauma of finally learning of their fate causing her to mentally bury that episode in her life for ever. It was just as well. Kurt never divulged to her that he'd been an SS Gestapo officer - as far as she was concerned, he saw the war out as a Sergeant in the regular German army.

Despite many years of trying for a child, she eventually fell pregnant in early 1958, aged thirty-two and gave birth to a healthy son, Arthur.

By now his father was becoming a wealthy man, having tapped into the burgeoning property development market in 1948 and Arthur, upon emerging from Lancaster University in 1979, aged twenty-one with a first class Honours Degree in economics and business management, joined him in the business.

His coming of age present was a three bedroomed semi-detached house in Shoreditch, London and he made good use of it as a batchelor until, in 1982, he met and fell in love with Georgina. Marrying her in 1983, he became father to Hilda ( Kurt's mother's name) four years later on August 21st, 1987.

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At the Richmond Collegiate Junior School, the woman snapped back into place the slat in the blinds she'd been peering through and walked out of the room, deep in thought. Gathering together some books and files from her desk, she strolled slowly out to the fast emptying car park and got into her car.

She hadn't been travelling five minutes before her carphone shrilled. Lifting it from its cradle attached to the car's central console, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello Terry, it's Number Seven Sugar here, darling." said a sultry female voice. "I'm naked and lying on my bed. Will you be long?"

"Mmmm." sighed the woman. "No, be with you in ten."

"Hurry!" came the reply, the line going dead immediately afterwards.

The woman cleared her mind of her recent thoughts, replaced the phone then pulled off the wig keeping her short, black hairstyle in place and accelerated.

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After Alex had watched an hour of children's television, Harry helped her undress and change into her pyjamas, dressing gown and 'bunny' slippers, before making her tea and settling her down to eat it.

She then began preparing her and Dempsey's evening meal, while he opened a bottle of chilled Chardonay for them to enjoy immediately, followed by a bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape to breathe, then drink with their meal later.

"Are Hilda, Melissa and Julian all in your class, Scrumpy?" she asked, as she retrieved two succulent fillet steaks from the fridge, took Alex's empty plate from in front of her and replaced it with a bowl of strawberry ice cream. Alex wasted no time in tucking into her favourite.

"Uh-huh." came the mumbled reply with a mouth clearly already packed with pudding.

"Wait until you've finished eating before speaking please Alexandra!" chastised Harry, always referring to her daughter's full christian name when annoyed with her. "It's rude to talk with your mouth full. And don't put so much on your spoon either! What do you say, young lady?"

"Sooory." replied Alex. "But Mummy, I've heard Pop speak when he's eating."

"Pop!?" queried Harry, raising her eyebrows at her. "Don't you mean Daddy?"

"Julian says all the girls in America call their Daddies, Pop." argued Alex.

"Does he indeed. Well in this house..." Harry began, until Dempsey glanced at her and gently shook his head, smiling.

"I kinda like that, honey." he said, quietly. "She's boun' ta pick up on my way of sayin' things from time ta time. Let this one go, huh?"

"Dempsey!" exclaimed Harry. "One day she's going to be Lady Alexandra. I really don't think she should be referring her father as Pop!"

"Yeah, but it's no big deal now sugar." replied Dempsey. "An' it ain't like you ta be a snob."

"James I'm not being a snob!" replied Harry indignantly.

"Ain't ya?" he said, looking directly at her, his eyebrows now raised too.

Harry had always been proud of her roots, but scornful of those in similar families who played the posh toff, snooty game, constantly looking down their noses at anyone who wasn't tilted gentry - or monied. Was she being an hypocrite now?

"Alright, maybe I am being a bit hyper-sensitive. But _I_ will always be Mummy, not Mom!" she said, adding mischievously with a twinkle in her blue eyes. "Anyway, how can you say I'm a snob? I married you, didn't I?"

"You'll pay for that!" grinned Dempsey, totally unfazed by her remark, knowing it was meant in jest and not spite.

"Ooh, I hope so, darling." she giggled, her look clear as to her meaning. "Early night?"

"Are you sleepy too, Mummy?" asked Alex, innocently, as she finished her bowl of ice cream.

"Yes darling." she replied. "And bedtime for you in ten minutes."

"Can Pop read me a story?" she asked, looking at Dempsey.

"Can you?" asked Harry, smiling at him, that twinkle still in her eye. "Pop!?"

"Yeah, 'course." grinned Dempsey, scooping Alex into his arms, before throwing her onto his shoulders as she squealed and giggled in delight. "Wanna go now?"

"Dempsey for goodness sake! She's just eaten a big meal. She'll be sick all over you if you swing her about like that!"

He quickly put her down.

"Go sit on the sofa, princess an' read ya book. No more TV tonight." he said. "Then I'm comin' ta get ya!"

Alex squealed again and dived onto the sofa, still giggling at her father. He went up to Harry and slipped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling and kissing her neck.

"Sorry tiger, wasn't thinkin'." he said.

"No you weren't." she said, the touch of his lips sending shivers through her. "Big dope! But I wouldn't have you any other way."

"An' I'll have you any which way ya want." he whispered, his hands beginning to wander over her stomach and up to her breasts.

She caught them and turned round to face him, kissing his lips before whispering back. "Stop! I'm turned on like mad as it is! Save it for later." Then, glancing over his shoulder, she cleared her throat. "Ahem. We have an audience."

"Pop's kissing Mummy, Pop's kissing Mummy." sang Alex, clearly getting into the swing of it. "Pop's kis..."

"Enough already!" commanded Dempsey, trying to maintain an angry stare but seriously hampered by the comical look on Alex's face, frozen in mid chant, her eyes wide in surprise and her mouth still half open.

Harry bit her lip and stifled a giggle, while Dempsey swallowed a laugh.

"Okay lady!" he said. "I'm comin' for ya!"

Alex immediately threw her arms into the air so he could lift her and snuggled into him as he carried her through to her bedroom.

Minutes later she was fast asleep, her busy day having taken its toll, a little hand clutching her favourite toy, a pink hippo she'd named Billy. Dempsey stood by her bedside for a moment, feeling utterly blessed, then joined Harry as she laid their steaming dinner plates on the dining table.

"I hope you're going to carry me off to bed soon as well." she said, her blue eyes sparkling as she watched him pour them both a glass of their favourite red wine.

"You bet honey." grinned Dempsey. "Jus' so long as you don' crash out on me like the other lady in my life's jus' done."

Harry giggled. "Worn out was she."

"Like switchin' off a light." chuckled Dempsey.

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Over in the Steele household a similar routine was occuring, although any passion between Georgina and Arthur was mooted and relegated to the bedroom on average once, maybe twice, per week. They didn't make love to one another any more, just had sex.

In the beginning, her sexual needs were as demanding as any young woman in the first couple of years of marriage, but they had waned after a while and following her falling pregnant with Hilda, had all but disappeared.

The birth had been a difficult one, leading to a cesarean and this had affected her quite dramatically, any hint of sex with Arthur almost sending her into a flat spin in case she fell pregnant again. During the pain of labour and the resultant operation, she'd sworn she'd never have another baby for as long as she lived!

Coupled with a basic disliking for her father-in-law, many of his traits manifesting themselves in Arthur, in particular arrogance and a loathing of gay men, communists and wealthy Jews, this had turned her love for her husband into something she couldn't quite explain or understand.

She'd often confided to her closest friend how similar in attitude both her father-in-law and husband were to the Nazi's in World War Two.

But she adored her mother-in-law, Madeleine, who, at sixty-six years of age, was still a beautiful woman, hadn't a nasty bone in her body and who doted on her little granddaughter.

"Bed now Hilda." her father was saying.

"Can you read me a story, Papa?" asked Hilda.

"Your mother will." replied Arthur, coldly. "Now, away with you! And make sure you go straight to sleep. No turning on your lamp and playing with those dolls of yours after your mother has left. Do you understand?"

"Yes Papa." replied Hilda, the term she used for him one in which he'd insisted upon as soon as she could talk.

Georgina glanced at him, a scowl just under the surface and held out her hand to Hilda.

"Come along then, little one." she said, softly. "Let's get you all tucked up and comfy. Do you like your new friend Alexandra?"

"Yes, she's really nice Mama." replied Hilda, another term of endearment demanded by her father. "She likes to be called Alex and she's going to be my bestest friend."

"Hmmm, well maybe we'll have her over for tea soon, after school." said Georgina. "Would you and she like that?"

"I would yes. But I'll ask her tomorrow." replied Hilda. "Then I'll tell you."

"Good." said her mother, as they walked hand in hand through to her bedroom.

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At ten o'clock that night, the woman finally left her lover, one of many in her address book, both male and female, and made her way home.

She was feeling calm and fulfilled.

Having showered and dressed in a pair of men's pyjamas, she settled down to watch television, a glass of whisky by her side, but the thoughts of earlier suddenly flooded back like an unstoppable tide, waves of anger tumbling into her mind and memory.

Tears formed in her eyes, then began cascading down her face, her sobs gathering pace until she was physically shaking with a grief that had blighted her life for as long as she could remember.

She downed her glass of whisky in one gulp and, with a shaking hand, refilled it, emptying it in one go again and refilling it once more.

Gradually the liquor dulled her pain and, as her breathing returned to normal, her demeanour became one of anger again.

She snapped off the TV and, in the silence, laid her plans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hidden In Plain Sight.**

**Chapter Three.**

Theresa Creighton had left school with a formidable set of qualifications.

Not only had she passed ten GCE 'O' levels, all Grade A, and 3 'A' levels, she'd been awarded a scholarship to Cambridge University and joined their oldest college 'Peterhouse' in early September 1955 reading English Literature.

She was eighteen years old.

The first time her lecturer, Ralph Fitzallan, walked into the lecture hall, she was struck by a thunderbolt. He was the most charismatic man she'd ever come across, classically tall, dark and extremely handsome. Needless to say, she wasn't alone in the impact he'd made on her. Just about every female that day was visibly crooning, not to mention one or two males.

Ralph (pronounced Raif) Fitzallan, however, was strictly hetrosexual!

Theresa made it her purpose in life, right there and then, to make him her own and, having brought herself to his attention, by fair means and foul, she'd lost her virginity to him and fallen helplessly in love by the end of that first term.

Ralph Fitzallan was thirty-five and a confirmed batchelor, although that hadn't always been the case. He'd spent the best part of the war working in the SOE with the rank of Major, his immediate superior being Lieutenant-Colonel Winfield, and had fallen in love with one of their agents, Helen Barnes.

Helen was vivacious, stunningly attractive in both mind and body and extremely brave. Their love affair was torrid, passionate and deeply loving, all their emotions heightened considerably due to the dangerous nature of her work. Despite the latter, they had become engaged to be married and had set a date, so when he learned she'd been captured, viciously tortured and sent to Ravensbruk in Northern Germany, the concentration camp where only women were held, he was utterly broken hearted.

He never saw her again.

When he learned that, on the orders of the officer who had sadistically interrogated her, she'd been gang raped first, before he'd started on her with his instruments of torture, his passion to seek out this monster were to remain fiercely powerful for the rest of his life.

That officer, he'd subsequently discovered, was one Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer SS Kurt Scheel and he didn't care if it was justice or revenge he sought, either way he would never rest until he'd tracked him down.

Ralph embarked on a crusade to find out as much as he could about Scheel and, through the French Resistance network, obtained details about him together with a photograph. Despite pleading with Colonel Winfield to allow him to go after Scheel, Freddy had to refuse him, citing the fact that he wasn't alone in losing someone close and if he allowed everyone to satisfy their personal vendetta's, the SOE would fall apart.

Ralph sadly and reluctantly accepted the reasoning, but was intent on seeking out his prey, irrespective as to whether the war was eventually won or lost. His anger and frustration was indescribable when, in the summer of 1945, he discovered Scheel had disappeared, his whereabouts unknown.

Now, in the afternoon of Sunday, June 10th 1956, he and Theresa were out for a drive in his newly acquired MGTF, a picnic basket strapped to the chrome luggage carrier positioned just above the spare wheel, the sun blazing down on them and the air warm as it blew through their hair.

Turning into a secluded country lane, he found an open gate and motored gently into the recently harvested field beyond, bringing the car to a halt beside a haystack. Jumping out and laughing happily, they laid a rug on the grass and opened up the picnic basket, bringing out sandwiches of egg and cress and tuna and cucumber, a bottle of champagne and a flask of coffee.

Ralph was teetotal, Theresa the exact opposite and it wasn't long before, once replete with food and the bottle virtually empty, she lay on her back, pulled her summer skirt up over her knees exposing most of her thighs and reached for him.

Later, lying together in the sunshine, each smoking a Senior Service, Theresa asked him about his experiences in the war for the first time. When he divulged that he'd been attached to the SOE, she suddenly scrambled up on one elbow and stared down at him.

"Did you ever know my brother, Jonny Creighton?" she asked, her eyes wide with expectation as she sucked on her cigarette and watched the gentle, warm breeze blow the smoke away as she exhaled.

"Jonny Creighton?" queried Ralph, he too dragging on his cigarette. "Golly yes I do! Sergeant Creighton, by Jove. He was your brother?"

"Yes." said Theresa, tears immediately forming in her eyes.

"By God, my love, I should have twigged it. Your surname is pretty rare." he said, sitting up and throwing his arm around her shoulder, comforting her as the tears began to flow down her cheeks. "There there now darling."

"Do you kn..know wh..what act..actually happen...happened to him?" sobbed Theresa, stubbing her half smoked cigarette out in the grass.

Ralph hesitated, inhaling another lungful of smoke.

"Yes I do." he eventually replied, exhaling, then reaching up to his mouth to retrieve a piece of tobacco from the end of his tongue.

"Will you t...tell me?" she asked, her eyes searching his face. "M..my parents nev..never would."

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.

She nodded.

"He was on an important mission into Paris." started Ralph. "But little did we know the head of the Resistance had been captured and, under interrogation, told the Gestapo when and where Jonny was being dropped. They ambushed him, took him to their HQ, interrogated him, then shot him twenty-four hours later."

"Who tortured and shot him, Ralph?" asked Theresa, her eyes having now hardened.

"Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer SS Kurt Scheel." he snarled, under his breath. "He also murdered the girl to whom I was about to be married."

"You've been engaged?" she asked, a stab of jealousy striking her heart, this being the first she'd heard of it.

"Yes, I have." he replied, the pain of his loss still raw and clear to see in his brown eyes, fuelling her bitterness towards this unknown woman.

"And who gave the order for Jonny to go on that mission?" she asked, coldly.

"My CO, Colonel Winfield. Why?" asked Ralph, quizzically.

"Just wondered, that's all." replied Theresa, swallowing her resentment of Ralph's wartime love. "Where are they now, any idea?"

"I lost track of Scheel." he murmured angrily, before clearing his throat and continuing. "Colonel Winfield is with the British Secret Service now. He's Lord Winfield, having inherited the title upon the recent death of his father. He's also married to a most beautiful woman, quite takes one's breath away she does."

Jealousy raged once more within Theresa upon seeing the look in Ralph's eyes when he thought of Lady Winfield, but she controlled it. She wanted to know more.

"And this Kurt Scheel." she said, quietly. "What does he look like?"

"Why do you want to know?" queried Ralph, intrigued.

"Because if I ever saw him I'd kill him." she replied, cool as cucumber.

"Huh, better stand in line in that case." he growled, delving into his jacket pocket next to him on the grass and pulling out a well worn sepia coloured photograph. "Here. That's Scheel."

Theresa studied it, committing to memory the arrogant, preening Gestapo officer staring back at her. She handed it back to him, now intent on getting his mind to consign the memory of his dead fiance to the past and focus exclusively upon her, the present. She ran her hand up along his thigh as far as it could go and carressed him, breathless in her desire for him as she felt his immediate response.

"Thank you." she whispered, leaning in and kissing Ralph's lips. "Make love to me again."

Their relationship lasted until 1960, one year after Theresa had graduated with a first class honours degree. Frustrated because Ralph had shown no sign of asking her to marry him, something she desperately longed for, she was utterly devastated when, having noted it was a leap year, tradition thus enabling a woman to propose to a man, he turned her down flat and ended their union instead.

Angry and disallusioned with men, she found solace with women, discovering the joys of sex with them and, later, men in threesomes, thus becoming rampantly bisexual. As the Sixties began to swing and the young became liberated she was insatiable, experimenting with LSD, heroine and cocaine along the way.

But, by 1970, aged thirty-three and nearly having died from an heroine overdose, she cleaned herself up, pulled her life together and eventually landed a librarian role in a boy's public school. She'd deliberately avoided girl's schools, knowing that being constantly surrounded by young, nubile females, she'd find it hard to resist attempting to discover if any of them had lesbian tendencies.

As far as boys were concerned she had no physical interest in them whatsoever, preferring experienced men as and when she felt it necessary to include them in her sexual adventures.

She joined the Richmond Collegiate Junior School in 1990 in an administrative role with additional duties in running the library. Some two years later, whilst leafing through some papers listing potential pupils and their family details and who were due to visit the school on it's Open day, it was then she spotted that Alexandra Dempsey's grandfather was none other than Lord Winfield.

In addition, on the day itself, as she wandered amongst the visitors and their children, she suddenly froze on the spot.

Coming towards her was an elderly gentleman, whose preening arrogance struck at her heart. Despite his advanced years she knew, instinctively, this was Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer SS Kurt Scheel, her brother's murderer. She stood stock still as he approached, then passed her, noticing his obvious affection for the little girl gripping his hand, her other clutching that of a strikingly beautiful elderly woman. It appeared the girl's parents were following and arguing with each other.

Theresa waited a moment then retreated hurriedly to her room in the school, snatching open a desk drawer and bringing out the list of expected visitors that day, together with a bottle of Grant's whisky. Filling a tumbler half full, she downed the liquor in one, before refilling it.

Although calm now, her mind was still racing as she sipped the second glass and searched the list of names in front of her.

She didn't expect to find a Scheel listed, but looked for names that bore a resemblance, soon finding the surname Steele.

She noted the name of the prospective pupil - Hilda Marie Steele.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mummy!" shouted Alex, sitting on the toilet. "I'm finished!"

"Okay, hang on, I'm coming!" replied Harry, pulling on her negligee disgarded from the night before, followed by her dressing gown and made her way to the bathroom. Dempsey watched her go and sighed - love making in the mornings was becoming a rare pleasure.

While Harry saw to Alex, he slipped out of bed, showered, dressed and wandered through to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee, a must to kick start their day.

A few minutes later, Alex appeared, resplendent in her school uniform and quickened her pace when she saw her father sitting up at the breakfast bar. He swung her up onto his lap and kissed her forehead as she cuddled into him.

"Mornin' little princess." he said, as she repayed his affection with a kiss on his cheek. "All set for ya day at school?"

"Yes Daddy." she replied.

"Daddy? What happened to Pop?" he asked, amused.

"I mean Pop." she said quickly, then pausing in thought. "But I can call you Daddy if I want to, can't I?"

"Sure you can, honey." he said, kissing her forehead again. "Now, breakfast. You wan' those Puffs again?"

"Yes please." she replied, leaving both 'Daddy' and 'Pop' out for good measure this time, unsure as to which she preferred.

"Okay sweet pea." said Dempsey, lifting her down to the floor. "Comin' right up!"

She settled herself down at the dining table and waited patiently while Dempsey prepared her bowl of cereal, tucking into it with her usual gusto as soon as it appeared in front of her.

Harry joined them then, looking stunning in a pair of close fitting mid-grey leather trousers tucked into dark grey, knee length boots and a jumper in pale blue with a huge roll neck, the sleeves pulled half way up her arms.

Dempsey whistled under his breath as she leaned in to kiss him, recalling how aroused he'd been earlier.

"Jeez tiger, shame we couldn't..." he began to say, her finger placed against his lips, stopping him from continuing.

"Shhh, darling, little ears!" she whispered. "You nearly said something very naughty. There's always tonight."

"Yeah sorry, I get kinda carried away." he whispered back, grinning.

"It's rude to whisper!" piped up Alex, looking at them both.

"It is for little madams like you." replied Harry. "You will have to wait until you're a lot bigger before you can whisper in front of people. And then only if it's absolutely necessary."

"How bigger?" asked Alex, as she scooped the last spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

"How _much _bigger." corrected Harry. "At least as big as me."

"Oooh." mumbled Alex, crunching the Sugar Puffs, swallowing them then pursing her lips. "_That _big!"

Harry giggled, Dempsey chuckled, as Alex looked crestfallen at having to wait so long before she was allowed to whisper.

"Would you like to go and see Gramps and the dogs at the weekend?" asked Harry. "I'm sure he'll want to hear all about your first days at school."

"Yes please!" she whooped, forgetting all about not being allowed to whisper in an instant. She adored Freddy and loved the labradors who always accompanied her whenever she went exploring the huge stately home, Winfield Hall.

"Right then! Best behaviour or we don't go." threatened Harry, but laughing at the sheer delight on Alex's face. "Go and fetch your satchel and cap then."

As Alex skipped off to her bedroom, Harry put her arms around Dempsey's neck and kissed him.

"Looks as though we're going to have a perfectly behaved little girl for the next couple of days." she giggled, before lowering her voice and whispering in his ear. "Quite the opposite to her mother who's feeling like misbehaving with Pop."

"Huh, she called me Daddy earlier." chuckled Dempsey, as he encircled her waist with both arms and pulled her into him.

"Did she?" asked Harry, eyebrows raised. "Well, we live in hope!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Theresa Creighton stood at her office window and parted one of the slats in her blinds, looking out over the school entrance and waiting specifically for two pupils to arrive.

She spotted Hilda Steele first, walking in through the gates holding her mother's hand, occasionally skipping from one foot to the other.

"Hmmm." she muttered to herself. "You _look_ like the granddaughter of that filthy, murderous Kraut!"

Her attention was interrupted by Dempsey, Harry and Alex arriving.

"Little aristocratic bitch!" she hissed at the window, as she watched Alex walk unaccompanied into the school. "You need that snooty confidence knocked out of you!"

She focussed on Harry then and, although instantly attracted to her, recalled Ralph Fitzallan's weak kneed look when he thought of Lady Winfield, reckoning correctly that Harry was a carbon copy of her stunning mother.

'You could do with a wake-up call too.' she thought. 'You're too beautiful for your own good.'

She snapped the blinds back into place and made her way to the library.

Outside, after Dempsey and Harry had waved goodbye to Alex, Georgina Steele came up to them.

"Hello." she said, smiling. "It seems Hilda and Alex are becoming firm friends and we'd love her to come to tea one day after school. Would that be okay with you?"

"Why yes of course." replied Harry, returning the smile. "Alex hasn't said anything yet though."

"No, I know she hasn't." said Georgina. "Hilda asked me last night if it'd be okay and when I said yes, she said she'd ask her today. So I just thought you should know it's fine by me if Alex agrees."

"Fine. Why don't we exchange phone numbers." suggested Harry, opening her shoulder bag, taking out a small notebook with pencil attached and scribbling her landline and mobile contact numbers down before ripping the page out and handing it to Georgina. "There. I'll let you know later."

"Thank you Mrs Dempsey." she replied, handing her details over too. "No doubt we'll arrange a suitable day next week."

"Indeed." replied Harry, smiling. "And please call me Harry."

"Oh right, yes, thanks again, er Harry." beamed Georgina. "Might hear from you later then. Bye for now."

"Seems a nice lady." remarked Dempsey as they walked to the car. "But I'm gonna check her out anyway."

"Whatever for Dempsey!?" asked Harry, somewhat astonished at him. "She's just the mother of another little girl, like me."

"Yeah, well I ain't takin' no chances with _our_ little girl, honey." he replied, as he reached the drivers door and looked across the roof at Harry. "Come on Harry, you've been aroun' long enough ta know ya can't take anythin' or anyone at face value. Ya gotta remember you're a very rich lady, an' whose ta say there's not some freak out there lookin' to extort money by grabbin' Alex."

"Dear God, you're frightenening me, James." said Harry, opening her door and climbing into the car. "But maybe you're right. I'm slipping. I've been too long out of the front line and complacency has crept in. I'd better sharpen up."

"Now you're thinkin' straight, tiger." grinned Dempsey as he grabbed his safety belt, clipped it into place and started the Cosworth. "I ain't sayin' anythin's gonna happen, but it's jus' as well to be careful, huh?"

She leaned across, took his face in her hands and kissed him.

"Yes darling." she said, securing her belt too. "We'll look into the Steele family as soon as we get to work. No stone left unturned."

"You got it, hon." replied Dempsey, still smiling as he nosed the car into the early morning traffic and headed for SI-10.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hidden In Plain Sight.**

**Chapter Four.**

After having settled into the morning routine and while Harry took the minutes of a meeting between the Commissioner and Commander Spikings, Dempsey began accessing the police database and researching the Steele family.

By the time she returned to her desk opposite him, he was looking puzzled.

"What's the matter?" she asked, as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Well, details of Hilda's parents Georgina and Arthur are all here, but her grandfather's don't go back further than 1947." he said, scratching his chin.

"Which grandfather?" asked Harry. "Mother's father or father's father?"

"Er, sorry, Georgina's parents are dead. I'm talkin' 'bout Arthur Steele's father, Christopher." replied Dempsey, picking up the cup and taking a sip of coffee. "It's a total blank."

"Hmmm, that is strange." agreed Harry. "What _do_ we have on him."

"He started the Steele Property Development Company in 1948." replied Dempsey, reading from the screen in front of him. "Perfect timin' too, jus' as land was cheap and housing stock at it's lowest. Made a killin'. He's a multi-millionaire now, retired, although still listed as Chairman. Wife's Madeleine, born in Lyons, France. Their only son, Arthur, is MD. No other kids."

"And that's it!?" asked Harry, bemused. "I wonder what he's got to hide."

"Yeah, jus' what I was thinkin' honey." replied Dempsey, still staring at the screen. "Accordin' to their passports and marriage certificate, they arrived in the UK in forty-eight from Brazil - Sao Paulo. Got married there in forty-seven. Nothin' before that, 'cept Madeleine was employed as a dancer. He was unemployed and of no fixed address."

"Do we have contacts in Sao Paulo?" asked Harry. "Public Records or similar?"

"Dunno, I guess we must have." replied Dempsey. "I'll do some more diggin' an' let ya know, hon."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Georgina Steele returned home from having taken Hilda to school, she'd just made herself a cup of tea and was sitting down to drink it, when her mobile telephone rang.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hiya sexy lady." said Paul Lewis. "Hilda get into school okay?"

"Yes thanks." replied Georgina. "And you? Melissa and Julian okay?"

"Yes, their mother took them in." he replied. "She picked them up last night, got them until Monday. You on your own now?"

"Yes. Nice quiet empty house." she answered.

"Want some company?"

"Would love some." she replied, holding the phone close to her ear as if it would bring the caller closer to her. "But don't you have to be in the office?"

"I'm out with a Rolls today." said Paul. "My partner, Dave can cover for me. Got a test drive organized. I can detour to yours for an hour or so afterwards."

"That would be lovely." said Georgina, adding seductively. "I'll be ready and waiting."

"Give me a couple of hours and I'm all yours."

Georgina had been having an affair with Paul Lewis, Melissa and Julian's father, for three months now. She'd met him when they'd both been visiting the school, initially to check it out, becoming mutually aware of an instant attraction between them.

Agreeing to meet for a daytime coffee, it wasn't long before they were back at Paul's luxury apartment and in bed with each other. Although she had come to loathe sex with Arthur, Paul had set her libido alight again and seeing as he had undergone a vasectomy two years previously, she knew she'd never fall pregnant by him.

He ran a successful used car business, dealing in high end luxury marques and had been divorced from his wife, the mother of his children, for eighteen months. The two lovers both knew their relationship was purely physical, there being no deep seated affection for each other at all, so feasted on one another for pure pleasure.

Christopher Steele had purchased the land, including planning permission, on the outskirts of Richmond and where the house now stood, in 1983, as a wedding gift to his newly married son. Arthur then tore down the bungalow already there and employed a firm of architects to design a mansion, which, following ratification of the plans, was built complete with indoor swimming pool, gymnasium, study, six en-suite bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room and lounge large enough to get lost in and all set in five acres, boasting an in-out driveway with electronically operated wrought iron gates at either end.

The company had financed the whole thing.

Parked outside one of those gates now was a dark green Vauxhall Carlton. The private detective sitting inside filmed the two-tone grey Rolls Royce Silver Cloud draw up, toot its horn, wait for the gate to swing open, then glide majestically out of sight, his cine camera recording the whole thing, the date and time clearly displayed in the bottom left hand corner of the screen. An hour later, it also recorded the Rolls leaving, it's number plate clearly visible.

By early afternoon, the film had been transferred to a VHS cassette and delivered to Christopher Steele personally, the private investigator receiving one thousand pounds in cash for his morning's work.

Steele had never liked Georgina and it wasn't lost on him that the feeling was mutual. When his son had broken down in the office one day, revealing that his marriage was fast becoming a sham, especially as Georgina had lost all interest in sex and now merely obliged him, Steele suspected she may be having an affair, so set out to get proof.

That proof now sat in his video player.

Picking up his mobile telephone he made one call, speaking in German, then, with that vicious looking smile of his, laid the phone back on his desktop.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at SI-10, Dempsey had drawn another blank.

He'd been in touch with the Sao Paulo police department, the Immigration office and Public Records, all of whom had nothing on a Christopher Steele before 1947, yet several details on Madeleine, who, of course, had entered the country legitimately on a temporary work permit that same year.

His last conversation had been with Sao Paulo's police Commissioner, who'd suggested that it looked as though this so called Christopher Steele may well have been a Nazi criminal fleeing capture just after the war.

"This city was rife with them after World War Two, Chief Inspector." said the Commissioner. "We were a haven for the Nazi's. Some nine thousand fled to South America, nearly two thousand to Brazil alone. Your man could well have been one and would have been swiftly shielded by ODESSA, the organization set up to protect former SS men and given a completely new identity. Remember, President Peron of Argentina sold ten thousand blank passports to them."

"Yeah, I guess it's gonna be a while before I track down who this Christopher Steele really is. But, much obliged anyway." said Dempsey as he replaced his phone and looked up at Harry who'd been listening intently.

"Well?" she asked.

Dempsey repeated the salient point of the conversation.

"Hmmm." she mused. "I wonder if Freddy can throw some light on it."

"Yeah, it'd be worth askin' him." agreed Dempsey. "I guess until we do, I don' wan' Alex anywhere near that family, honey."

"No, I agree." said Harry. "It's just as well we're up at Winfield Hall this weekend. We can delay Alex's tea party with Hilda Steele until next week sometime, when we know more. I dread to think how she'll react if we end up having to forbid her."

"Listen angel." said Dempsey, as he formed his right hand into that of a pistol. "We don' have to forbid anythin'. Jus' switch it aroun' meanin' Hilda comes to ta us instead of Alex goin' there, okay?"

"Smarty pants!" giggled Harry, watching as he fired his forefinger at her, before blowing on its tip, grinning widely.

"Okay. An' Freddy'll know where to get in touch with those guys huntin' Nazi war criminals." said Dempsey. "In the meantime, I'm gonna see whether the Krauts know anythin'."

"My God, to think Hilda's grandfather might be ex Gestapo!" murmured Harry, shuddering at the thought.

"Harry, I dunno 'bout that." replied Dempsey. "But ya gotta admit, it looks hellish suspicious that this guy didn't exist before forty-seven an' came inta this country from Brazil, huh?"

Despite contacting the German authorities in Berlin, Dempsey was still no further forward by the time he and Harry left for the Richmond Collegiate.

"Goddamn Krauts were pretty useless." he moaned. "All they got are records of those who were indicted and a few details of the most notorious Nazi's who escaped, some of who were found and sentenced."

"I read somewhere the Nazi's destroyed an awul lot of detailed information before the Allies could get hold of it." said Harry. "Our only hope is Freddy now."

When they met Alex from school, she came bounding up to them both, dragging Hilda by the hand.

"Mummy!" she said excitedly, as Georgina joined them. "Hilda's asked if I'd like to go to tea! I can go can't I? Please say I can."

"Er, yes you can have tea with Hilda." replied Harry, smiling at Georgina. "Sometime next week. We'll let her know on Monday."

"Oh, can't I go now? Today?" asked Alex, hopping from one foot to the other in anticipation.

"No, not today Alex." said Harry. "It's too short notice."

"Yes Alex, it is short notice." confirmed Georgina. "I'm sure your Mummy and I can agree on a day next week."

Hilda and Alex exchanged glances, both looking disappointed. They'd been chattering away excitedly for most of the day about sharing teatime with each other that afternoon after school.

"Come on little lady." said Dempsey, picking Alex up. "Time to go home, honey. Say 'bye to Hilda. You'll see her again tomorrow."

Alex looked down at her and waved goodbye, Hilda taking Georgina's hand and returning the wave, while Georgina formed her free hand into a pretend phone, put it to her ear, looked at Harry and mouthed "call me".

Harry nodded, smiling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At two am in the morning, a Landrover coasted silently up to the premises of PL Motors, it's smart showroom in semi-darkness, the half light glinting on the gleaming paintwork of two Ferrari's, three Porsche's, a Bentley, two 'E' Type Jaguars, two Mercedes SL sports cars and a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud in two-tone grey.

Located in a narrow side street in Hampstead, everywhere was quiet and sleeping.

Three men alighted from the Landrover, one immediately taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, trying each one in the lock of the entrance door, the other two keeping watch, while he went swiftly and methodically about his business.

Seconds later he swung the door open, the other two having retrieved sledge hammers from the Landrover, all three then quickly entering the showroom, the alarm bleeping in warning.

They had thirty seconds to disarm it.

Flicking on their torches, they ran silently to the main office, one punching the alarm code into the pad on a wall, another going to the junction box controlling the electrics, smashing it open and throwing the main switch, thus plunging the building into total darkness.

No alarms had sounded, courtesy of the code having been eventually disclosed by Paul Lewis, who was now lying semi-conscious in his luxury apartment, four fingers of his right hand having been systematically broken, the fingernails having been previously torn out. His face was swollen and bleeding from the savage beating he'd taken prior to having been held down while his attackers went to work on his fingers.

The once immaculate, beautiful cars were soon reduced to a mass of broken glass, each panel of each car severely dented, their interiors ripped to shreds with knives. It would be touch and go as to whether the insurance company would sanction repairs or write them off.

Across the road from the showroom were shops, above which were one room bedsits and single and two bedroom apartments, all double glazed to reduce the noise, both from the busy street during the day and late night shoppers. Coupled with the same double glazing for the showroom, the carnage that went on that night was decidedly muffled.

However, a young batchelor living opposite and busy in his bed entertaining a girl he'd picked up in the pub that night, had heard the silence outside interrupted by a diesel engine starting up. Peering through his curtains, he witnessed the Landrover leaving hurriedly and noted the showroom opposite, one in which he would gaze into from his window and dream, was now in darkness.

Suspicious, he quickly pulled on a T shirt and jeans, much to the amusement of the girl in his bed, and, barefooted, slipped outside, running across to the showroom window and peering in.

Despite the darkness, he could see enough to almost weep at the sight that greeted him.

Hurrying back to his bedsit, he dialled 999.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Paul, in the meantime, had managed to crawl to the sideboard and pull his telephone down onto the floor beside him. Summoning as much concentration as he could muster, he focussed on the key pad, eventually punching a speed dial button, which connected him to his partner Dave, and mumbled incoherently into the mouthpiece lying next to him.

It was enough to alert Dave to the fact that something was seriously wrong and he dashed over to Paul's apartment, finding the front door still open and horrified to see him in such an appalling state. Having called the Emergency Services, he waited until they had whisked him away in an ambulance, then rushed over to the showroom, having taken a call from the police informing him of the break-in.

Later that morning, after Georgina had returned home again after taking Hilda to school, she found Christopher Steele's Mercedes, sitting on the drive. It was unsurprisingly empty, Steele having his own key to the house.

She found him sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, his pale blue eyes staring menacingly at her.

"Sit down Georgina." he commanded.

She did as she was told.

"What do you want Christopher?" she asked, trying to stop herself trembling under his scrutiny.

"You will find that your lover is currently enjoying the services of our National Health Service." said Steele, noting her sharp intake of breath. "Yes, my dear, I know all about your sordid little trysts with Mr Paul Lewis."

"Wh..what's happened to him?" she asked, knowing it was pointless to pretend ignorance.

"He's met with an unfortunate accident." continued Steele, pursing his lips in mockery. "And so have all those flashy cars of his."

"Wh...what d..do you mean?" she stammered.

"You will find out, I'm in no doubt." replied Steele. "Now, you will, from here on in, be a proper wife to my son. You will not seek out other lovers, you will give yourself to him willingly whenever he demands it, you will enjoy it and you will make him a very happy man. Do I make myself clear?"

"And if I don't?" she asked, knowing not from where she'd found the strength to defy him.

"You will not see your next birthday." he replied, his eyes ice cold.

"What!?" she cried. "Are you threatening my life!?"

"No, not threatening, Georgina." he replied, smoothly. "You will not say anything about this little chat between us, otherwise your daughter will lose her mother."

"Dear God!" she cried again. "You _are_ threatening me!"

"No, it's not a threat, Georgina! It's a _promise_!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Hidden In Plain Sight.**

**Chapter Five.**

After Steele had left, Georgina was frozen to the spot, numb and in shock at the clear realization that her father-in-law would snuff out her life with no hesitation if she didn't comply with his demands. She'd always sensed an evil about him, an aura of vicious intent if provoked and now she'd seen a glimpse of it in all it's nastiness.

After several minutes, she finally managed to walk, as if in a trance, into the study and up to a small bar in the corner of the room. Grabbing a bottle of Corvoisier and a glass, she poured herself a large measure, unable to prevent the neck of the bottle rattling against the tumbler, her hand shaking uncontrollably.

Cupping the glass with both hands to steady them, she drank the sharp tasting liquor quickly, coughing immediately, her throat and esophagus feeling as if they were on fire as the brandy went down, eventually dissipating into a warm sensation in her stomach.

Then the tears started as the questions rushed into her mind.

Where was Paul? What had been done to him? Was he badly hurt? In a critical condition? Would he live? How could she find him? _Dare_ she find him?

As if by divine intervention her mobile telephone began ringing in the kitchen. She managed to reach it before it switched to voicemail.

"Hello?" she said, her voice sounding weak and small as she wiped the moisture from her face with her hand.

"Is that Georgina Steele?" asked a female voice.

"Y..yes it is. Who is this?"

"My name is Jenny Sanders. I'm a nurse at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead. We have a Mr Paul Lewis in our care and he wanted me to tell you he was okay."

"I...I see." stuttered Georgina, reaching for a box of tissues. "Is he badly hurt?"

"He's been assaulted, rather viciously I'm afraid." replied Jenny. "And four fingers of his right hand are broken. He's also lost his fingernails."

"Oh my God!" replied Georgina, her hand flying to her mouth, the tears flowing once more. "He will recover, won't he?"

"Yes he will." assured Jenny. "We'll make sure of it. Is there a message I can give him?"

"Er, ye...yes." said Georgina, sniffing, wiping her tears away again and dabbing her nose with a tissue. "Please tell him I'm so sorry. And I wish him well."

"Er, is that all?" queried Jenny, a little surprised there wasn't a message of love anywhere in Georgina's response.

"Yes, yes it is. Thank you for calling me. Goodbye." replied Georgina, ending the call immediately.

"Goodbye." said Jenny, staring at her receiver, then shrugging as she returned it to it's base.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The break-in at PL Motors was initially dealt with by the local Hampstead constabulary and put down to wanton vandalism, assumed to be fuelled by jealousy of the exotic cars on display. A report was written reflecting these assumptions and filed by the young constable responding to the 999 call made earlier, with the copper adding, as a footnote, that since the perpetrators would never be able to afford any of the cars, they were simply hellbent on scoring a poke in the eye for the rich bastards that could.

It was a sloppy response with far too much not taken into account, especially the blatant silence of the alarm system and no apparent damage done to its wall mounted keypad!

No-one raised an eyebrow at the non-attendance of Paul Lewis at the school gates either, seeing as his estranged wife had custody of the twins that day and had been seen dropping them off that morning.

It was now three thirty five in the afternoon and Harry and Dempsey were waiting at the gates for Alex, their car packed and ready to make the journey to Winfield Hall for the weekend. Upon seeing Georgina's pale complexion, swollen eyelids and red nose when she arrived at the school, Harry was more than a little concerned.

"Georgina?" she asked, a little surprised too, that she also appeared to be deliberately avoiding them. "Is everything okay? You don't look well. Are you ill or has something upset you?"

"Oh, er, hello Harry." replied Georgina, fighting hard to swallow the tears that threatened to flow once more. "No, no, I er, I don't feel too good. Must be coming down with something."

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Harry again, sensing there was more to her appearance than the onset of a heavy cold.

"Yes! Thank you, I'm fine!" snapped Georgina, immediately feeling embarrassed at her unfriendly attitude and response. "Sorry Harry. Really, I'm okay thanks."

On an impulse, Harry suddenly asked. "I know this is incredibly short notice, but why don't we have Hilda for the weekend. We're visiting my father and I'm sure Alex would love it if Hilda could come too."

"Oh no Harry." replied Georgina immediately. "She doesn't have any clothes with her for a start."

"Oh, that doesn't matter." said Harry, smiling. "As per usual, I've packed too much anyway for Alex, so Hilda can wear some of her stuff. Anyway, it'll be very informal. They'll be messing about in dungarees and welly boots in the day and pyjamas at night. And it will mean Hilda won't catch what you may be sickening for."

Georgina began to see the sense in Harry's offer. She was in no state to deal with the demands of a lively four year old right now, still needing time to come to terms with what had occurred that afternoon with her father-in-law and the shock of learning what had happened to Paul.

The idea began to appeal to her. "Well I suppose if Hilda hasn't any objections, she may as well come with you." replied Georgina. "I'll ask her."

"No time like the present." responded Harry, as Alex and Hilda came out of the school - hand in hand with Theresa Creighton and looking sheepish.

"Uh-oh, looks like they jus' got busted for somethin'." chuckled Dempsey.

"Well don't look so happy about it!" scolded Harry under her breath as they waited for the trio to reach them.

"I've had to reprimand them for running when they should have been walking." said Theresa as she strolled into earshot. "These two have more energy between them than the rest of their class put together!"

Hilda didn't like Theresa Creighton and, looking decidely unconcerned at having been ticked off by her, she, with an almost perfunctory wave of her hand, asked.

"Mummy, is Alex coming for tea now?"

"No she isn't." replied Georgina, in no mood for a badly behaved youngster. "Have you apologized for running?"

"Soorry." said Hilda to Theresa, who was just succeeding in keeping herself from slapping the insolent little madam.

"What about you Alex?" asked Harry. "Have you said sorry?"

"Yes." she murmured, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on her shoe as she tried to grind an imaginary creepy crawlie into oblivion.

Georgina broke the pregnant silence that had settled over them.

"Alex is going with her Mummy and Daddy to see her grandfather this weekend." she said. "Would you like to go too?"

Both girls began bouncing on their feet. "Yes please!" they both replied, excitedly.

While Dempsey took Georgina's car keys and transferred Hilda's child seat to the Cosworth, Georgina scribbled down her address in Harry's notebook and handed it back.

"We'll drop her off by late Sunday afternoon?" suggested Harry, taking the notebook from her. "Say about five - ish?"

"Yes, perfect, thank you." replied Georgina, who then proceeded to remind Hilda on how to behave, before kissing then hugging her goodbye.

After they'd all gone, Theresa Creighton returned to her office, switched her computer on, opened a folder containing details of all pupils, alphabetically arranged by surname and scrolled down until she reached 'D'. Once she'd scribbled down the relevant information, she then took a road map of the UK out of her desk drawer and began to search Buckinghamshire.

Once they were on their way, the two girls sat quietly in the back of the car, each with a pair of headphones on, listening to Roald Dahl stories on portable cassette players.

"Wonder what Georgina was _really _upset 'bout, honey." remarked Dempsey as he gunned the car towards the M40. "Even if she was goin' down with somethin', it sure as hell wasn't just a runny nose."

"No, I know." replied Harry, glancing across at him. "I just felt she could do with a break. She looked as though she'd been crying for hours. And bringing Hilda with us gets us out of having to swerve questions as to when Alex could go for tea next week."

"Yeah, good thinkin' tiger." grinned Dempsey. "We can see if Freddy can throw any light on her grandfather too. Somethin' sure ain't right 'bout him!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Arthur arrived home later that afternoon, he was surprised to find the house so quiet as, usually, Hilda would be glued to the television and Georgina clattering about in the kitchen preparing her tea, then their evening meal.

"Hello!" he shouted, standing motionless at the bottom of the galleried landing. "Georgina!?"

No reply.

He walked up the staircase and made his way to the master bedroom, finding Georgina asleep on the bed, fully clothed. Sitting on the edge he began shaking her awake, she finally responding and opening her eyes, drawing her breath in sharply when she saw him staring at her, a look in his eye she knew would spell trouble if she resisted what she knew was coming.

"Where's Hilda?" he asked, coldly.

"She's gone away for the weekend with Alexandra Dempsey and her parents." replied Georgina. "They're visiting her grandfather for the weekend and invited her to join them."

"I see." said Arthur, his eyes scanning the swell of her breasts, flat stomach, trim waist and shapely thighs under her dress. "So, we have an empty house for the weekend then."

Georgina mentally gritted her teeth, her father-in-laws words rolling round her head. 'You will give yourself willingly to him, you will enjoy it and make him happy.'

"Yes we have." she replied, forcing a smile.

He leaned in and began to kiss her, his hand sliding under her clothes. She closed her eyes and forced herself to succumb.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time the Dempsey's reached Winfield Hall, all was silent in the back of the car, the two girls sound asleep.

"Wakey, wakey you two!" said Harry as she reached across and sounded the car horn, something that had become a ritual since the first time she'd taken Dempsey to meet her father. "We're here!"

As they approached the porticoed entrance to the enormous house, Freddy appeared, grinning from ear to ear and waving, preceded by the two labradors. Blondie and Gunner, who immediately came to heel upon instruction and sat at his feet, panting in expectation, their tails wagging furiously and forming a perfect arc in the gravel.

Abbott, his trusted butler, soon appeared and opened the car doors as Dempsey brought the Cosworth to a halt, the two girls waiting impatiently while they were released from their seat belts, then leaping out to make a fuss of the dogs.

"Harry darling and James, good to see you." said Freddy, simultaneously hugging his daughter and shaking Dempsey's hand, before glancing at Hilda. "And who's the little girl with Alex?"

"Hilda, they've become firm friends." replied Harry, smiling. "You'd think they'd known each other for months instead of three days!"

"Oh, new school chum then. Pretty little thing isn't she. Reminds me of you at the same age." remarked Freddy, as he admired Hilda's natural blonde hair and blue eyes, before calling out. "Come on girls, your tea will be ready very soon."

The two of them stopped making a fuss of the dogs and each took Freddy's hand, flanking him as he escorted them into the house and through to the kitchen where they were greeted warmly by Mrs Thomas, Freddy's cook and a grandmother herself six times over.

He joined Harry and Dempsey in the drawing room a few minutes later, whereupon Abbott was dispensing drinks before melting away and leaving them to their privacy.

"How is Alex settling in at school?" asked Freddy.

"Like a duck to water." replied Harry, chuckling. "So far, she loves it."

"And her friend Hilda. Have you met her parents?"

"Only her mother, Georgina." said Harry. "She seems a nice person but we're not so sure about her extended family, Daddy."

"Oh? Why?" asked Freddy, immediately interested.

"We checked 'em out, Freddy." said Dempsey. "An' the grandfather don't come up nowhere before nineteen forty seven. Arrived here from Sao Paulo by boat with his wife, a Frenchwoman, an' set up a property development company, tappin' into the housing shortage, buyin' up land and buildin' homes."

"Hmmm, that would have proved very lucrative." replied Freddy. "Was he wealthy?"

"Must've been." said Dempsey. "There's no record of bank funding, private loans or mortgages in the company accounts. An' seein' as he ain't done nothin' wrong, I don't have the authority to access any private banking records, so I've no clue if he transferred any loot from Brazil to here, or anywhere else for that matter. "

"What is his name?" asked Freddy.

"Christopher Steele - with an 'e'." answered Dempsey. "I checked with the Commissioner of Police in Sao Paulo. He reckons Steele could've been an escaped Nazi."

"Hmmm, well I'm always interested in those brutes." said Freddy, his blue eyes hardening instantly. "Many an agent of mine died in their hands. I still have contacts with certain people involved in rooting them out, even today. I'll make some phone calls - see if I can find out who this fellow really is!"


End file.
